


Suckers for Strays

by learningthetrees



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 14:32:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learningthetrees/pseuds/learningthetrees
Summary: Hannibal, damn him, had painted himself in blood red across every part of Will’s life. He’d taken him and marked him and made him so he could never fit into his own skin again.





	Suckers for Strays

When he heard the news, he waded out into the water like he had in his memory back at the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Then, he’d gone fishing to escape the reality of the prodding lies surrounding him. Now, he didn’t even carry his fishing rod as he stood, knee-deep in the bay, with waves of unbidden recollections rolling over him.

They were supposed to know Hannibal was dangerous. They were supposed to know about his silver tongue, about his ability to pull at strings until a plan fell meticulously into place. How could the institution that had so efficiently imprisoned Will himself have failed so greatly? The papers had reported on it, of course. Just as the public interest in Hannibal was beginning to wane, the newspapers and blogs ran headlines like “Ripper Rips Again” and “Cannibal’s Heart-Pounding Kill.” The last one was a blatant exaggeration, though—Jack had told him the truth. Even when Hannibal tore out the unsuspecting nurse’s tongue with nothing but his teeth, his pulse never rose.

Will remembered that stoicism. Even after Hannibal had plunged a linoleum knife into his stomach, even as Will bled and crumpled against his attacker, even then the doctor’s hands were steady and his breathing even. Will would have bet that his heart rate hadn’t raced then, either.

He’d gotten better in the year since Hannibal’s capture. At first, even the mention of the name sent him into shudders and gasps, but eventually, time sewed up his wounds. He met and married Molly, who wasn’t afraid to step into the darkness and lead him out. And soon, the darkness didn’t come for him anymore. He was no longer a profiler or an agent or even a teacher; he was a husband and a fisherman and a father.

But empathy had a way of reminding Will that he could never outrun his past. Just when he thought he’d become a new man, he realized that he and the nurse Hannibal murdered were the same, only Hannibal had left him alive to suffer for it. Hannibal, damn him, had painted himself in blood red across every part of Will’s life. He’d taken him and marked him and made him so he could never fit into his own skin again.

Will didn’t know how long he stood in the water—long enough to relive the past two years since he’d met the doctor. It wasn’t until the sun was gone from the sky and the water was picking up a chill that he noticed he wasn’t even fishing. Slowly, he dragged himself out of the bay and trudged up the hill to the house.

His drenched boots _squelched_ across the kitchen floor until he sank into a chair and unlaced them. They plunked in puddles, and he looked up to see Molly in the doorway.

“Hi,” she said tenderly.

Will took a deep breath. “Hi.”

Molly stepped into the room, but only enough to make the gesture of caring. “I saw the paper.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Will ran a hand over his eyes. “What’s there to talk about?” he asked. “A person with a track record of being inhumanely despicable has just proven himself again.”

“You know you were standing out there for two hours.”

Will’s jaw jerked as he looked away. Molly’s gaze was penetrating, the type of look she fixed on one of the dogs when it started to show unusual behavior. Never before had she looked at him like that. Like he’d snapped.

“I needed to think,” he said curtly.

“Will, baby, I have no idea what you’ve been through—”

“No, you don’t.” Will stood and made to move past her, but she put out a hand, catching him by the forearm.

“I just need to know you’re okay.”

“Why?” Will spit out the question, pulling his arm out of her grasp. “Because I’m just another stray you have to take care of?”

His voice had risen, and his last words echoed in the silence. Molly’s brow creased. “What did you just say?” She spoke in a hushed tone, like she was trying to keep the hurt from creeping into her voice.

“Am I your husband or am I just another improvement project? Because sometimes, I can’t tell the difference.”

“You really think I’m that shallow? You think I married you so I could _fix_ you?” she retorted. Molly rarely yelled; instead, her whole body took on an urgency and tension that seemed to make the atmosphere around her quaver.

“Sometimes, Molly, yes. I do.” Will had crossed a line, and as soon as he said it, he knew it, but the turmoil that had been building since he’d read the newspaper headlines was spilling out, unbidden.

Molly shook her head, and to Will it looked like giving up. “I can’t believe you’d—” She turned, speaking barely above a whisper as she left the room. “Stay away from me.” And then she was gone, disappearing up the stairs.

Will balled up his fists and threw back his head, wishing he could release the scream he felt growing in his throat. Why did he always turn on the people trying to help him? All Molly ever did was reach out to him—and like a caged beast, he’d snapped at her. He gave her a few moments, really giving himself a few moments to breathe out the poison and regain his humanity. Then he climbed the stairs, plodding up each one carefully, until he was poised on the outside of the closed bedroom door.

He knocked softly. “Molly?” he said, trying to imbue into those two syllables the depths of his apology.

“Yeah?” came her timid response.

“Can I come in, please?”

“Yeah.”

Will pushed open the door to see Molly sitting in bed, the blankets nested around her. She hurriedly wiped away tears, but he saw them glimmer in her palms. Suddenly feeling like an ashamed child, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, avoiding his wife’s eyes. He stared at the carpet penitently until she spoke.

“Did you really mean that?”

Finally, Will looked at her, willing her to know the truth. “No.”

She let out a breath. “Because that hurt,” she started, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “You know how much you mean to me, Will? After Willy’s father died, I thought I would never feel that way about anyone again. I was depressed. I didn’t want to wake up in the morning because I thought I would never be in love like that again. But I knew I had to keep going, for Willy. And then I met you, and I felt all those things again. I felt love. I felt alive. So don’t ever think that you’re just some stray.” Her voice cracked. “Because you saved me, Will.”

Will couldn’t handle the space between them any longer. He crossed to the bed, sitting beside her and pulling her into his arms. She buried her face in that spot between his neck and shoulder that she claimed as hers, and he rested a hand on her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. She only held him tighter.

“Don’t be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [ask-learningthetrees.tumblr.com](http://www.ask-learningthetrees.tumblr.com)!


End file.
